


paddock pass

by redpaint



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 6,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21608488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpaint/pseuds/redpaint
Summary: assorted F1 ficlets and drabbles (ratings vary, pairings in chapter titles)
Relationships: Alexander Albon/Charles Leclerc, Alexander Albon/George Russell, Alexander Albon/Lewis Hamilton, Alexander Albon/Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc/Sebastian Vettel, Lando Norris/Carlos Sainz Jr, Lewis Hamilton/Charles Leclerc, Nico Rosberg/Susie Wolff/Torger "Toto" Wolff, Nico Rosberg/Torger "Toto" Wolff, Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc, Valtteri Bottas/Lewis Hamilton
Comments: 57
Kudos: 260





	1. Alex/George: something a bit dodgy

**Author's Note:**

> Request ficlets on [tumblr](https://www.redpaint.tumblr.com/ask)!

The villa was so quiet that Alex’s soft moans seemed loud, filling George’s ears as they rocked together on the bed, George bracketing Alex’s body with his own. He could feel Alex’s dick getting harder against his thigh. It spurred him on, made him grind down a little harder as he kissed down Alex’s neck.

“Oh my god, George,” Alex said, his voice softer still. When he whispered, his voice tended to scratch the lower end of his register. It made George’s heart skip a beat.

“Yeah?” He replied coyly. He knew what Alex wanted, but it had never been in their relationship for him to just hand Alex a victory. Even when he wanted to. Badly.

In lieu of a response, Alex grabbed George’s hand off of his chest and dragged it lower, under his boxers. George was more than happy to feel the line of Alex’s cock properly, to run his fingers up the impressive length, lingering on the sticky wet tip and listening to how Alex’s moans got that little bit louder.

George pushed down his underwear properly and shimmied down the bed until he was face to face with it. He was close enough to taste Alex’s precome, so he did. Just one lick that made Alex’s hips jump up.

“Go on,” Alex whispered. The encouragement burned through him. He steadied the base of Alex’s dick with one hand, then took it into his mouth. It had been forever since he’d done this. Had it been this hard last time? Had his lips stretched this wide? Did it seem like there was no way that guy’s cock would fit in his mouth, until it did?

He was barely sucking on more than the head, but Alex’s broad hands came to rest in his hair, just the gentle weight of them pressing him down to take more. He was so hard against his tongue, fucking into George’s mouth in tiny motions that seemed almost involuntary. Each one sent a spark down to his own dick, made him rub against the mattress just to get some relief.

He pulled off just enough to catch a breath. Alex’s eyes had been closed, but he looked down to see what was the matter. George lazily tongued at the head, teasing. “I want you to fuck my throat,” he said before he could think better of it.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt—”

George ducked back down because _yeah_ , he was sure. Alex made a breathless sound, but his hands were back on his head again, fingers curling through his hair this time until they were just on the edge of painful. Alex held him in place as he pressed deeper into George’s mouth, past the spot that made George gag and into the slick tightness at the back of his throat. George couldn’t breathe to steady himself, Alex’s cock was everywhere, filling him so completely, all he could do was lose himself in it. His world narrowed to the rhythm of Alex fucking his mouth, how it got faster when he curled his tongue against the underside and moaned in his chest. How empty it felt when he came up for a gasp of air and the satisfying feeling of sinking all the way back down on his dick again.

Alex’s body was wound tight, the tension palpable in his abs and thighs. “Fuck, I was already, I’m not gonna, _George_ , wanna come in your mouth.”

George moaned what he hoped sounded like agreement, and it must have worked because Alex’s pace got ever faster, more frantic, sharp thrusts across George’s tongue and into his throat that tested the limits of his gag reflexes, but he wouldn’t quit, not now, didn’t care if he was sore in the morning because the sound of Alex losing control was more than worth it, and so was the hot bitter taste of his come as it flooded his mouth. His eyes watered but he didn’t pull off, sucking gently as Alex twitched and moaned beneath him.

Alex urged him upwards with a soft tug on his hair. George was happy to oblige. Alex’s smile, wide and blissed-out, eyes half-closed: it was an image to remember. George filed it away in a mental folder that he thought he would name “Vacation photos.” He didn’t think much beyond that though, because Alex was kissing him, running his hands down his body everywhere he could touch, and whispering in his ear, promising him a generous reward for being so good.


	2. Carlos/Lando - make it slow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for a tumblr anon who asked for Lando and tickling!

Lando doesn’t know how to hold the joint. He felt it crumple a little between his fingers when he first took it from Carlos, so now he grasps it delicately, terrified that it will fall out of his hand and burn him and leave marks that will let everyone know that he’s been breaking the rules. He’s so busy thinking about it that he forgets to take another drag.

“Are you done?” Carlos asks, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. He reaches over to take it back, but Lando twists away.

“No, no, sorry. I just, uh. Got distracted.” He puts it between his lips and inhales hard. The weed is mixed with harsh loose tobacco, and the smoke scorches his throat even as it makes his head feel lighter. He fights a cough and loses, puffing out smoke in painful bursts. He can barely hear Carlos laughing over his own wheezes. They’re sat on the patio of Carlos’s family estate, miles away from anyone else, but he swears the entire peninsula can hear his coughs they’re so loud. Carlos plucks the joint from his fingers and sets it on the crystal ashtray. Lando coughs a few more times for good measure. Carlos rubs his shoulder through it.

“Sorry,” Lando says, the only syllables he can force out. His voice is shredded, reed-thin, and it sounds like it’s coming from someone else, several feet away. He should not have inhaled so hard. He closes his eyes to steady himself, focuses on the feeling of his feet on the ground and the warm Meditteranean breeze on his face.

He hears Carlos shifting in his chair, then the click of the lighter. “Oh no, it’s okay. Not everyone can be so graceful and cool as I am,” Carlos says, his voice tight as he holds the inhale. Lando opens his eyes and looks over, just in time to see him blowing a few smoke rings. Show-off.

It’s Lando’s turn to grab for the joint, leaning over Carlos to try and snatch it out of his hand. Delicacy be damned: he could be cool. He just needed a little practice. Carlos sees him coming though, ( _I guess all that training is worth something_ Lando thinks idly) and he takes the offensive route, using his free hand to tickle Lando’s exposed side. Bastard.

Lando doubles over immediately, half-falling into Carlos’s lap, unable to stop himself laughing as tries to squirm away from Carlos’s fingers. “Stop stop stop stop stop,” he gasps between heaving breaths. He clutches his sides, desperate to avoid another wave of attacks from Carlos. But they never come.

Once he has recovered enough to think he realizes that Carlos is vibrating under him, his whole body wracked by silent laughter. His face is scrunched up, almost like he’s in pain, and there are tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, but he’s smiling wider than Lando has ever seen. “Como un salmón,” Carlos says under his breath, and it’s enough to send himself into another painful-looking fit of laughs.

“Not so cool now, are we?” Lando says and pushes himself upright again. The world spins a bit. He steadies himself on Carlos’s knee.

Carlos leans back in his chair, riding out the rest of the giggles with his face pointed up to the massive blue sky. He takes a few deep breaths, punctuated by lingering laughs. His skin is warm under Lando’s fingers. The joint, dropped during the commotion, smolders on the paving stones, forgotten.


	3. Alex/George - first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon on tumblr who requested Alex/George - first time.
> 
> I imagined this vaguely set during 2017 but it's not really important.

“So how do you want to—?” Alex asks without asking, more delicate than unsure. George is convinced that he’s done this before. He must have. He’s calm, smiling even, which only makes George feel that much more like a ridiculous virgin than he already does.

George had been the one who paused their episode of The Wire and told Alex _I really like you and I want to have sex with you_ with as much straightforward confidence as he could muster. He was also the one who said _no not right now_ and _I was thinking tomorrow actually before we all head home_ and _we should really finish up the episode, there’s only ten minutes left_ , dooming himself to twenty-four hours of distraction and anxiety. For once he had wished that the race was shorter rather than longer.

The problem is that there are just so many ways he wants to do this. He’s done his research. Not just the obvious stuff, all those hours of porn and years of fantasies, but also embarrassingly clinical how-to guides, hoping that if he just arms himself with enough information then maybe his shaky fingers won’t betray him and his heart won’t feel like it’s trying to escape through his throat. It ends up being no help at all. He's just worried he's going to come on too strong, if only he could speak. Alex is staring at him patiently and he can't scrape together the words for how much he _wants_.

Instead of answering the question he leans in and kisses Alex deeply. It’s familiar, spreading warmth through him. It also reminds him of every time they’ve done this and he’s stopped himself from asking for more, pulled away and pretended to go back to watching whatever show they have up on Netflix just so they can do it all over again the next weekend. He’s never even seen Alex with his shirt fully off, until now. He runs his hands over Alex’s shoulders curiously, the impossibly soft skin disturbed only by the slow flex of muscle and ligament underneath it.

Alex gently breaks the kiss, his face only inches from George’s. “I mean, do you still want to?” he whispers.

George wants to so much that it seems to fill every fiber of his being. The thought that he might _not_ want to is so alien that it makes him laugh. Alex looks puzzled and pulls away a little more. George instinctively keeps his hand on Alex’s shoulder. He should be closer, not leaning away. They should be close enough to finally satisfy the possessing heat that threatens to tear him apart every race weekend.

“Oh my god, yes, I want to. I really really do.” He sees Alex’s relief in the return of that smile, feels it in the release of tension under his fingertips, tastes it in the sweetness of Alex’s tongue on his own. George rediscovers his nerve, and along with it comes his voice. So when he asks _Can I show you what I was thinking about?_ it’s not because he doesn’t know how to tell Alex with his words. It’s just that telling him with his tongue seems a lot more fun.


	4. Alex/Lewis - post-Brazil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anon who asked for Alex/Lewis post-Interlagos. Sorry it's so short! I wanted to try a drabble, but now I have more ideas for this pairing in the future!

He plays off his anger after the race: these things happen, I’ll get them next time. He’s already been so blessed. The blind-red fury was uncomfortable, embarrassing. He’s not an angry guy.

But now Alex wishes he could turn the anger back on, possess himself with the feeling of sitting on the runoff and watching the pack pass by. That righteousness of having what was _his_ cruelly taken away. Lewis is offering himself up, intoning that an apology isn’t enough. If he was angry then his voice wouldn’t shake when he asks Lewis to get on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send requests on tumblr @ redpainterly


	5. Lewis/Valtteri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for babypapaya, who requested Valewis!

A year in and he wonders, will he ever get used to this? Will it ever lose its novelty? Cataloging the growing library of tattoos on Lewis’s skin. Returning post-race kisses that turn from soft to filthy in the blink of an eye. Breathing in Lewis’s whispered _Valtteri_ s and responding with a growl and another thrust. After three years it still feels like discovery. Like podiums, it doesn’t get old.

He watches Lewis watch him across the pillows and wonders if he feels the same way. A man who has earned himself everything in the world, and then some; is he finding something new when he kisses up Valtteri’s chest or runs his thumb over the line of his jaw? Is he still struck by some detail or feature of his body, one that he must have seen before but now feels so exquisite and new? It’s how Valtteri feels when he spots a pair of freckles on Lewis’s shoulder after the summer break.

Maybe they won’t be able to do this forever. Maybe they’ll get older and the champagne will go flat, maybe Lewis will become just a man to him, that intangible aura lost. But for now, that possibility feels like the death of the sun, inexorable maybe, but too distant and destructive to waste time worrying about, especially when now when Lewis beckons him into bed and his heart skips like it’s the first time.


	6. Nico R./Toto Wolff - crossdressing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set very roughly during the 2014 season.

They never talked about why they did this. Never codified any of the rituals that they found themselves engaging in over and over. Never talked about why Toto would always go to Nico’s room, not the other way around. About why Nico was always fully dressed by the time he arrived, except for the finishing touch of his makeup, the pilfered tube of Chanel lipstick that Toto brought in his back pocket. About how Toto would hold his jaw gently in one hand and swipe the color over his lips with the other. Toto always took a second to glance down at the shade name printed on the bottom. _Lover,_ now wasn’t that appropriate?

Nico did acknowledge what was new, however. Toto had sent the set to Nico’s flat by discreet post, and he was relieved to see Nico was wearing it. It was, as always, an order disguised as a gift: _wear this._ And as with any order, there was the risk it wouldn’t be followed. “Thank you,” Nico whispered, as Toto ran his fingers over the white lace and mesh of the bra. “It’s beautiful.” It was an odd game they played, like Nico couldn’t buy this for himself, like he had to rely on the kindness of an older man to provide his expensive lingerie.

“You’re welcome,” Toto said, pulling Nico into his lap where he sat on the edge of the bed. “Seeing it, I immediately thought of you.” It was an understatement. Despite the craziness of the race weekend, he had kept returning to the thought of Nico’s hips framed by lacy frills, his shoulders supporting the flimsy straps of the bra. The reality of it was even better. Nico’s skin showed through every inch. The pink of his nipples reduced to shadows that Toto wanted to taste.

Nico shuffled closer in Toto’s lap until he was sitting squarely on top of Toto’s dick. The pressure felt good, even through two layers of underwear. Toto indulged himself and pressed up into him a little, kissed down the side of Nico’s face and neck. This close, their chests brushed, the scratch of the bra on his own skin sending goosebumps down his arms.

“Touch me, please,” Nico said. Always so polite. Even more so when they were alone. Toto ran his hands up Nico’s legs, appreciating the slippery smoothness of the matching stockings. Nico couldn’t shave his legs, not with all the PR appearances in the middle of the summer, but this was enough of an approximation. When Toto reached the top of his thighs, Nico held his hands there. Nico’s cock, straining against the front of the panties, was close enough that Toto would barely have to move to graze it with his fingers. But he squeezed Nico’s thighs instead, feeling the firm muscles there, how they flexed slightly to keep Nico steady on top of him.

Nico whined in his ear. “Is this not what you wanted?” Toto asked. He worked not to betray any irony at all. They might as well have been in an office somewhere, debriefing the weekend.

“You know what I want,” Nico replied, a little more desperate, grinding on Toto in small, graceless motions. The head of his cock brushed Toto’s stomach. Toto could feel the stickiness of precome through the scrap of fabric.

Nico was right; Toto knew what they both wanted and what would almost certainly happen. A variation of the same thing every time: watch Nico swallow his cock with a certain amount of impatience, collect lipstick stains on his skin, then push Nico off, bend him over the side of the bed, pull the panties to the side, start with a few fingers and then slide in, promising himself that this was the night he would take his time. Remember how tight Nico is. Remember how he gets tighter when Toto pulls his hair. Wish his hair was as long as it used to be. Pull out in time to come on his back. Turn him back around so Toto can watch his face as he fingers him with one hand and jerks him off with the other. Let Nico ruin the beautiful garments and think, with some satisfaction, that he’ll just have to buy him some more.

Someone else might worry that it would get repetitive, but just thinking about it was still enough to spike Toto’s pulse. He sucked a kiss just below Nico’s collarbone and palmed his cock under the panties. “You’re right, _Süße,_ ” Toto said, his voice softening. “I do know what you want. Now, knees on the floor. Let’s put that pretty mouth to better use.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Süße - sweetie/sweet girl
> 
> who needs plot or characterization when you can have [waves hand in the general direction of whatever this is] this
> 
> you can't gift chapters but if I could I would gift this one to 015255, king of crossdressing fics


	7. Nico R./Toto Wolff/Susie Wolff

Nico tells Toto that he’s retiring just before they land. He follows Toto into the car without discussing it.

Susie’s incredible, expecting for one champion home and getting greeted with two. She ribs Nico like she always does, then she pulls him down into bed like it’s habit.

The harness looks expensive and the dildo feels just right when she fucks him, each thrust shoving his mouth forward so he swallows Toto deeper. It should feel degrading, but actually it’s perfect. He’s never felt so wanted, so stripped of everything but winning and _this_ , nothing left to fix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the anon who requested a threesome/eiffel tower with the wolffs!
> 
> send requests on tumblr @ redpainterly!


	8. Charles/Pierre - attention

Pierre hums around Charles’s cock. Rubs his tongue along the vein. Strokes Charles’s balls with one hand. Little things to get his attention.

He goes deeper until he gags, swallows around the head, drools and whines and moans like he can’t get enough. Charles is silent, doesn’t touch him.

Pierre pulls off when Charles is close. Lets Charles come on his face, bites his tongue through it. It’s a sight that can’t be ignored.

Charles only looks down to zip his pants. When Pierre goes to grab tissues he notices Charles still wearing his airpods. He’ll try harder next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this began as a joke and ended up as a drabble. basically fanfic of monday's [dirtbag, baby](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21914254). send requests on tumblr @ redpainterly.


	9. Alex/Max - D/s

Alex slides into the role so easily it’s almost scary. He teases and prods just like he always does. He ties Max’s hands behind him, pulls them up off his back until he has to bend over and press his face into the mattress. Then he keeps going, laughs when Max whines at the pain like this is just another joke between them.

Max wants to pretend they’re different people, but Alex insists on being Alex. “Could you speak up, please?” he asks, the model of politeness, even though Max’s mouth is stretched around a ring gag. Alex put it there himself and spent a minute mocking the way it made Max drool, smearing the spit over Max’s cheek with a careless swipe of his thumb.

Maybe this isn’t so different than what they always do, looking for an advantage on one another. What does it say about him that he _wants_ Alex to find his vulnerabilities now, to search them out and dig in hard, like he would if they were on the track? What does it say about him that he doesn’t want to fight? It would be easier, more excusable, if he were someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes. pure filth.
> 
> request ficlets on [tumblr](https://www.redpaint.tumblr.com/ask)


	10. Charles/Lewis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: body image/eating disorders, for the anon who requested charles/lewis

Charles is boyish, angelic. Charles is thoroughly milquetoast and he finishes a lap behind, clad in white. Charles is stretched out under him. Charles says goodnight politely and disappears. Lewis lays awake and imagines picking downy feathers from between his teeth. 

Charles grows thin, as though carving away his body will let him join the ranks of seraphim. Charles grows cold, as though cladding himself in armor will make him Michael. Charles needs help, but this isn’t it. Lewis never claimed to be a philanthropist in bed. He marks the weaknesses of Charles’s body with crosses of fire. His mouth follows after, a blessing and a threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I have gone marking the atlas of your body  
> with crosses of fire.  
> My mouth went across: a spider, trying to hide.  
> In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst."  
> \- Pablo Neruda


	11. Alex/Charles - Livestreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is a bit different— I wrote it for all the guys on reddit who "ironically" subscribe to the [r/FanF1ction](https://www.reddit.com/r/FanF1ction/comments/ghvpsb/charles_accidentally_streams_some_personal_time/) sub. since it's written to reddit standards, i'm putting it here instead of its own post
> 
> i fully blame babypapaya for coming up with the idea of posting real fic to that sub. this one's for you.

They’ve all been streaming for several weeks. Charles should really know how to turn off his stream by now. The first few times it was kind of funny, maybe even cute, but this is just embarrassing. Alex turned off his own stream several minutes before, when they all decided to quit playing Call of Duty for the night. Now he can’t stop watching Charles’s chat go crazy while they all watch him silently scrolling on his phone.

> charles? charles? oh my god he’s wearing airpods he can’t hear us

> lol how long do you think it will take before he notices

> yes king give us nothing

> guys idk if we should even be watching this if he doesn’t know he’s streaming ???

Charles abruptly gets out of his chair and walks off-screen, much to the chat’s disappointment. Alex figures that’s it for the night, party’s over. He keeps the tab open while he drafts a text to Charles. There are some advantages to being in a group chat now, namely that Alex gets to be the first one to make fun of him when this kind of stuff happens. His thumb is hovering over the send button when Charles reappears on his stream.

Instead of his usual hoodie and bandana, he’s shirtless. Alex quickly sends the text and types up another one: _turn off your stream mate!!!_ The chat quickly descends into chaos, the dwindling number of viewers slowly climbing again. Charles’s stream goes dark for a second, but it’s just him hitting the lights. He slides into his chair, illuminated by the cool blue glow of his monitors.

> save it for onlyfans

> i’m straight but…

> :charles16STUPID: :charles16STUPID: :charles16STUPID:

Alex watches his screen with a sense of growing dread. He tries calling Charles, but his phone must not be in the room. Charles just clicks around on the screen, looking as pretty and bored as ever. After a minute he sits up a little straighter and picks up his headphones. Maybe this was all some weird, elaborate joke and Charles knew what was going on the whole time. Maybe he’s finally going to turn to the camera and address the thousands of people still watching.

No, the headset microphone just picks up his unsteady breathing as he leans back in his chair and slips his hand under the waistband of his sweats. It’s a little hard to see with the lighting, but there’s no mistaking what’s going on here. Charles slowly rubs his cock with the palm of his hand, groaning a little under his breath.

> holy shit nooooo !!!!!

> holy shit YES

> nice cock bro

> Is Mattia okay with this?

> charles call seb

Alex should really, really close this tab. He should wipe his internet history and pretend that he never saw any of this, pretend that he’s in bed getting himself off to the same _normal_ porn he usually would, not getting hard watching his friend touch himself on stream like a fucking camgirl. The thing is, Charles’s abs are flexing, and his mouth is open just a little bit, his eyes trained on something on his monitor and the sight is so fucking hot that Alex can’t stop rubbing over the front of his pants as well. He glances at the door— thank god it’s locked.

Charles has stopped teasing himself now. He pushes his pants down enough that the webcam captures the outline of his cock, the way his fingers are squeezing at the base. If the lighting was better, if the video wasn’t so grainy, Alex imagines that he’d see the head of Charles’s dick getting all red and shiny with precome. He sits back in his own chair and watches as Charles works his dick in long, lazy motions. Alex undoes the fly of his jeans, cursing as his unsteady fingers slip on the buttons. It feels like a lifetime before he can finally wrap a hand around himself, hissing at the relief it brings.

He strokes himself in time with Charles on the screen and resolutely does not think about what he’s doing. The chat rushes by in a frenzy, but he’s stopped paying attention. All he can focus on is how Charles is biting his bottom lip, how his mouth looks so soft and pink, how it would look wrapped tight around Alex’s cock, if Charles were right here, kneeling under the desk, making those high pitched whining sounds between Alex’s legs instead of through the screen, hundreds of miles away.

It doesn’t take long before Charles’s pace grows frantic, his hand a blur. He’s moaning now, a soft _ah, ah, ah_ that serves as a warning before his whole body jerks and he’s coming, thick stripes of come spilling over his fist and dripping onto his toned stomach. Alex jerks himself faster too, he wants to see Charles’s come with an urgency that’s almost frightening. He wants to come before Charles leaves the room for good, before Charles’s hands and mouth and body become nothing more than a seedy, guilty memory.

“Fuck,” Charles mumbles, wiping his hand on his shorts. It’s coarse, it’s disgusting. It’s enough to make Alex’s hips buck up into his fist, to get his own come all over his own hand and his t-shirt and jeans. His brain, not to mention his morals, feel like they’ve been drained out of his dick. He quickly cleans up with a spare sock and does up his jeans, hoping that now he can actually pretend this never happened.

Charles pushes his chair back from the desk, and then he’s gone. It’s unnerving to watch the empty chair in the dark, silent, as the chat whizzes by. Alex sneaks another look out of morbid curiosity. Maybe there can be camaraderie between everyone who just watched that happen.

> holy shit did you guys look at the users in chat??

> albono is that you

> aleeeeeex :PogChamp:

Fuck.

Alex turns off his phone. He will need to sleep before he can deal with the inevitable phone call from Red Bull PR.


	12. Alex - Post-Austria 2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is a sequel to Chapter 4, so make sure you’ve read that one first!

Maybe he’s always thought himself to be above anger, despite its appeal. Anger was for drivers with excuses, the ones without the fortitude to look inward. The last resort of wounded egos— hiding from themselves.

As he slides into the gravel, Alex thinks maybe he’s been wrong all along.

Maybe anger without cruelty has a purpose. Maybe anger is a kind of _knowing_ — the warning light that flashes when someone gets too close. Oversteps boundaries. Drives into you at 200 kph.

Anger shouts before the mouth can even open. _I’m here. I belong here._

Alex allows himself some anger now.


	13. Alex/Max - the cartier cock cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> absolute insane, stream-of-consciousness crack for babypapaya. if i had to write this your name has to be associated with it.

“So how long do I wear it?” Max asks. He keeps his tone light, like this is just a joke between friends. Alex is smiling at him. Max won’t be the one to break first.

“I dunno,” Alex says. He leaves it at that, daring Max to push it. He looks _expectant._ Like he knows Max will go along with this if he asks, and the worst part is he doesn’t even have to ask. Max unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down around his knees.

“So how does it go on?” He huffs, turning the cock cage around in his hands. It doesn’t have any obvious clasp, studded all over with little screw motifs that make his balls want to retract into his body.

Alex waves a little screwdriver in front of Max’s face. This has to be some kind of joke. If there’s something less pleasant than the idea of mummifying his dick in heavy platinum for an as-yet-undetermined period of time, it’s getting the thing _screwed on_. It smacks of vises, garages, and some of the weirder porn he’d stumbled across as a teenager and watched out of curiosity and nothing more.

“You can’t be hard, mate.” Alex says it like he’s halfway between disappointed and bemused, like Max should know better. Max wants to protest— it’s _barely_ a semi, and it just happens when he’s nervous sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s certainly not into this, as much as Alex’s looks would try and suggest otherwise. “I could give you a hand if you want, it might be a while—“

Alex’s hands feel good— really fucking good. Max knows this from experience. He must use lotion or something. Still, accepting feels like losing in a way that Max doesn’t have the desire to unpack. He waves Alex away and tries to think of unsexy things: last-minute suspension changes, Helmut Marko’s balls, having to play F1 2019.

In the meantime, Alex plucks the cage from his hands and gets to work fiddling with the screw that will open it. “You should really count yourself lucky. These are strictly invite-only items. Very exclusive. Cartier would deny that they even exist.”

Max wishes Alex would stop gloating. It’s really ruining the vision he had that this was going to be some kind of admirable display of endurance and mettle.

“Very impressive, yes. Are you done playing mechanic over there? I think I’m good now.”

Alex raises an eyebrow and looks down at Max’s cock with an appraising eye, like this is goddamn _Antiques Roadshow_ or something. “Are you sure about this? We could always start you on a plastic one—”

“Shut up,” Max snaps, and grabs the cage back out of Alex’s (soft, warm) hands. The cold platinum is somehow even less pleasant against his dick than he had expected. “There. Can you—?” He glances purposefully between the screwdriver and the contraption between his legs. Alex obliges, leaning down and fastening the clasp. Max crosses his arms tight over his chest to stop himself flinching at the snap of metal on metal.

Alex stands up and flourishes the screwdriver like a magician’s wand before slipping it into the pocket of his skinny jeans. “Perfect, all done. Now, about airport security…”

Max hates him. He really does. His cheeks are burning and he’s already getting squeezed by the unforgiving metal bars of the cage. But Alex has that damn screwdriver in his pocket, so Max bites his tongue and nods along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> max has been wearing a [cartier love bracelet](https://www.cartier.com/en-us/collections/jewelry/collections/love.html) recently and my brainworms told me cartier cock cage was the natural progression


	14. Seb/Charles - Celebration

Charles thinks he was meant for the sea — born there, lived there his whole life, lost his virginity on a rich girl’s boat, and nearly drowned playing reckless boys’ games in the harbor a year later. It suits him, the restless search for level ground, the relentless force of the waves at all times of night. But now they’re so far from the sea that Charles could believe he’s imagined every drop. Seb loves hauling them up into the mountains, where water runs as quick as it can towards lower climes, crashing in heaving streams between ancient boulders, making water an aberration among stone, not an all-encompassing horizon.

Charles feels horrendously out of his depth. He ignores it for Seb’s sake. There’s a bottle of champagne still half-chilled in a wicker basket, sitting between them in this little clearing. Seb’s sprawled out on the soft woven blanket he brought from home, peering up through the trees like they’re something interesting. Charles’s fingers itch. He wants to do _something,_ yell or laugh or fuck or however you celebrate not losing someone who you thought was already lost.

“Aren’t you excited?” He asks. He aims for casual, lands more in the vicinity of needling. Seb just smiles up at the sky, closes his eyes against the sunlight coming through the leaves.

“Of course I am. I’m just focused on this right now.”

The champagne is sweating something awful. It’s going to turn their sandwiches to mush if they don’t do something.

“Do you want to drink?”

Seb sits up on one elbow to look at him, his hair half sticking up where it had rested against the blanket. The news articles all call him _multiple World Champion, Ferrari legend,_ but from here he just looks relaxed. He's totally unlike the kind of person about to shoulder the phonecalls of the world’s media and another few months of car trouble. Charles just chews the loose bit of skin next to his thumbnail.

“I want you to come over here,” Seb says, patient, so patient. His head is tipped to the side, sizing Charles up for a joke. Charles grabs the champagne as he walks over, presses his red finger against the cool glass.

“Like this?” he asks, throwing a leg over Seb’s hips and settling into his lap. It’s nice, up here. To pretend he’s something else. Ready to see and celebrate the small things, _only_ those things, miles up, the quality of the air making them feel closer, thinning the atoms that stand between them. To pretend that he could just focus on Seb’s hands on his hips and the sound of the cork and the taste of wine on his tongue, the champagne sizzle the best approximation sea foam you can get this deep in the mountains.

“That’s better,” Seb says, still a little unsatisfied, then kisses him quick, stealing the taste of the ocean out of his mouth as sweetly as he can. It’s almost enough to make Charles abandon his gills and revel in the hard, uphill climb towards something worth planting a flag on. He wants to do it for Seb — Seb who fights like it’s second nature. Seb eases them back down until Charles is laying on top of him, until he’s staring up at Charles like he’s the uppermost branches of an alpine fir. “Where are you? Won’t you be here with me? We’re celebrating.”

Charles looks down at him, sees blue harbors, blue horizons, the collapsing of their worlds into something too dissonant to be comfortable but still managing nonetheless. He takes another drink from the bottle, kisses Seb first this time.

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spot the richard siken reference lmao
> 
> for Directionless_Foray — all sebchal roads lead back to you. thank you for the gills and the champagne and the healing in the dirt


	15. Charles/Seb - oral fixation

Pens. Water bottle straws. Fleshy, tortured fingertips. Charles can’t seem to keep things out of his mouth.

Seb should be able to ignore it. It’s just that he has to stare at it for hours during the debriefs and he wants to yank them from between Charles’s lips, tell him _it’s not as charming as you think._ Charles chews his gum and winks like he thinks he’s the leading man. Seb grits his teeth.

It all makes sense later, with Seb’s cock rubbing raw on Charles's tongue. It’s a void, of sorts — one Seb can’t stop wanting to fill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gross!
> 
> it’s all partywitharichzombie’s fault


	16. alex/george - rough handling

Alex knows what the hairband around George’s wrist means — there’s a flicker of recognition in his face when he spots it. Then the look is gone. God, the waiting is the worst part. Everything else, everything overtly mean and shocking and painful, is something George has asked for. He never asked to be made to wait. He wore the hairband because he feels like he’s about to crawl out of his own skin with this feeling, and Alex makes him _wait._

It’s another few minutes of Alex asking banal questions and luxuriating in George's discomfort before Alex even touches him.

( _Are you sure,_ Alex had asked, when George had told him. _I’ve never done anything like that before._ George has to laugh at the memory. Alex has taken to the role well. He always did like winding George up, getting on his nerves, calling him names.)

Alex's touch, when it comes in the form of a shove off the bed, is a relief. He puts a little too much force behind it for anyone to call it playful. George catches the fall with his shoulder and takes a second to breathe. The adrenaline rush feels a little like driving — it narrows your vision. George must take too long sitting up on his knees because Alex grabs him tight by the hair and hauls him up, smiling down at George like this is just their normal banter.

“Don’t. Be. A. Fucking. Lazy. Arse.” Alex separates his words with hard, stinging smacks to George’s right cheek. George nods. His shoulder smarts. His face burns. He runs a finger over the hairband. This is just the warm-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just archiving this ficlet from an old tumblr request!


End file.
